


hurtling through space (while wondering whats next)

by Garecc, Gunpowderdtim (Garecc)



Series: Ready, Aim, Fire [5]
Category: The Mechanisms (Band)
Genre: Angst, Blind Character, Blindness, Canon-Typical Violence, Death, Fever, Gen, Guilt, Hallucinations, Hurt No Comfort, I Do, Infection, Injury, Major Character Injury, Medical Trauma, Mythology References, Near Death, Near Death Experiences, Post-War, Psychological Trauma, So much death, Solitary Confinement, Suicidal Thoughts, Survivor Guilt, Trauma, War, War Crimes, and in the moon, everyone on earth died, gunpowder tim vs the moon kaiser, i guess, im not sure if i can tag that but tim is entirely blind in this, not graphically, only bc the mechinization scene is hinted at, so so so much death, spending so long away from menial comforts you start crying over a blanket, thats alluded too, this is my second fic about dying alone in space, this is very remineseint of Terminus ngl, tim was colorblind pre mechinization, you ever think about how tim was shot before the kaisers throne
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-30
Updated: 2020-09-30
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:41:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26731543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Garecc/pseuds/Garecc, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Garecc/pseuds/Gunpowderdtim
Summary: Tim was alone in the Moon Kaisers life pod for some time before he died. He also had a gunshot wound. And was blind.Also, the moon exploding likely had some cataclysmic effects as the bits started raining down.Basically, Tim blows up the moon, realized he's doomed earth, and dies. (he gets better though)
Series: Ready, Aim, Fire [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1799860
Comments: 6
Kudos: 103





	hurtling through space (while wondering whats next)

**Author's Note:**

> this will have a companion fic similar to my brian ones, with the mechanization and death being two separate fics.

Tim's eyes hurt.

With every shaky, shuddering breath he took agony lanced through his face, violent sparks of red-hot pain jolting down his neck through his shoulders and down into his fingers.

He didn't know what he was feeling. Didn't know what he was thinking other than too, too much. 

He hardly remembers what happened after the battle, after the explosion. 

As the light burnt out his eyes in a blaze of white then red then nothing that couldn't be called darkness because he wasn't perceiving light _at all._ The explosion rattled the pod, throwing it back and into the air away from the moon as it sent him crashing back to the floor.

Aching.

For a few minutes after he gathered his wits he felt nothing but giddy, budding glee warring with shaking despairing terror as the sunny thought of ‘ _he did it. He killed the Kaiser.’_ danced around with the terror ridden bumbling thoughts of ‘ _what next?’_

The terror inevitably won out, and he’d sat there, shaking and shuddering from the pain.

Racing frantic thoughts of the moon, of the Kaiser, of the lunar canon of _everything,_ swirled through his brain faster than he could even start to process.

_He didn't know what to think. What to do._

Was it over? Was some ship going to swing by to get him? Was he going to die here? 

He couldn’t see to look around the room. Couldn’t see to look outside. Couldn't see to know what was happening.

His shoulder hurt, too.

Almost more than his eyes did.

He sat on the floor of the pod, knees curled to his chest and heart pounding against his ribs.

Was it over? Did he win? Could he go back to Earth? 

For what felt like the millionth time since he’d mostly recovered from the blast, Tim sobbed.

He didn't know what to do.

_He didn't know what to do._

* * *

Eventually, he grew tired of sitting on the cold floor. His back giving a persistent ache and while Tim didn't manage to stop himself from spiraling entirely, he had come to a conclusion.

He was in this situation whether he liked it or not.

He had to find something to do about it.

He stood up slowly, legs shaking.

Holding his arm in front of him, he walked slowly onward. Intent on figuring out the layout of the room.

Someone was going to come for him.

Eventually.

Someone _had_ to come for him.

Despite his precautions, his shin slammed into a table, or something and he nearly fell.

Pitching sideways with a scream muffled only by muscle memory from the trenches (screaming told the enemy's sensors where you were. Where to fire.) as he tried to catch himself.

Hands flailing, he looked for anything to grab.

Miraculously, his hand landed on something plush, and he threw himself against it. 

For a moment, he couldn’t identify what he was touching, what he was on.

Then he realized.

A couch. 

Tim crawled onto it. Shaking.

Trying not to start crying.

He failed.

When was the last time he sat on a couch? When was the last time he had touched something soft?

Before he enlisted.

Around four years ago now.

His hand encountered a blanket of sorts, folded neatly. Tucked into a square on the end.

Tim almost frantically pulled it around himself, the fledging warmth it brought more comfort than he ever expected to find here. 

In the _Kaiser's_ moon pod. (the fucking _Kaiser’s._ )

It wasn't even the softest blanket but that didn't stop Tim from sobbing into it, burying his probably bloody face into the fabric and breaking.

He had almost forgotten what decent, not worn and bloody and muddy and generally revolting blankets felt like. 

Sobs rattled through him as he curled into the Kaisers blanket and cried.

Bloody tears flowed down his face.

_Bertie was dead._

He didn't have any home to return to.

Even if he got back to Earth, _what then?_

Was he a war criminal? Did using the canon count as a war crime? He didn't know. He didn't even have any family, not without Bertie, and the thoughts of doing something as normal as _university_ stunned him. 

He didn't know how he would even react to seeing grass. Or a tree. Or any plant for that matter, much less having _grades_.

He couldn’t stop crying as he sat there, losing it over sitting on something plush, and having a blanket. Over the theoretical future. Over everything.

He buried his head into the blanket and just sobbed.

* * *

He'd mapped the whole of the small room he’d entered from. A main space. A sort of a kitchen, bedroom, and living space hybrid. All packed into the room.

There were two more rooms on either side. He picked one at random, and stepped inside.

Upon entering, he reached out. Intending on following the wall. But his hand slammed into something cold and metal. It took him a moment to figure out what it was.

A faucet.

An honest fucking _faucet._

He'd nearly started crying again. 

Everything was so _much._

Fumbling around for a towel before running it under the water and for the first time in what felt like years washed his face. 

There wasn't a shower, or a bath but just wiping the moon dust off him with fresh water in a bathroom had him feeling more like a person and less like a rat in a cage in a tunnel in a trap than he had in _years_.

Years.

After washing off a bit, he took another towel and wet it before pressing it to his eyes. The coolness far more of a relief than anything else. 

The pain dulled from sharp biting pain to a muted throb as he rinsed them out.

He desperately tried to ignore how his heart raced at the fact he was in the _Kaiser's_ bathroom in the _Kaiser's_ life pod using the _Kaiser's_ towel to clean himself.

The fucking _Kaisers._ The monster. 

But after washing up he felt far more like a person, and he walked out to go explore the third and final room.

With one hand trailing on the wall and the other in front of him. Checking for objects.

The next room was the controls. The Bridge. 

The steering, and probably a million other things. Not that he could see to look at them, given he couldn't see at all.

He decided against touching anything, given he couldn't see to reverse it. In case it turned off life support, or something.

Unfortunately, Tim never had the best luck and as he turned, his elbow hit a switch.

Tim froze, immediately waiting for the worst. For blaring alarms or an alert he couldn't read.

But then voices were coming through the console’s rattling speakers.

Panicked German voices filtered through, and while Tim hadn't picked up much German in the war, he knew enough to tell they were asking for help. Surrendering. 

Tentatively he reached for where he figured the button was, wondering if it worked like a car radio.

It took him a minute to find it. Then he turned it, tentatively. Almost expecting it to blow up in his face.

It switched to another comms channel. Almost the same. Frantic talking. Again. And again. Until an English channel clicked up.

"Mayday. Mayday. This is lunar vessel 476. Lunar debris is colliding with the hull. _Mayday mayday-_ " the voice cut off in a crashing explosion cut off with a scream.

Tim felt his stomach sink.

With every new channel, more distress signals came through. More pleas for help. More explosions and death.

"This is earth station 4. Lunar debris is expected to collide with the planet. We cannot send any rescue crafts. If you're still up there, we’re sorry." He changed it again. Desperate for some proof edgewise. 

For some hope of someone coming for him. 

That he wouldn’t die here. 

But all he got was more frantic desperate voices. More dying scared people.

Every channel he listened to gave him a piece of a terrifying puzzle. An apocalyptic story and he couldn't stop his hands from shaking. His lungs from wheezing.

More people died on the comms.

More of the puzzle filled in.

He'd destroyed the moon. The lunar canon shattering the tunnel-ridden thing, killing everyone inside.

Pieces of the moon were now raining down planetside.

He'd doomed earth. He'd damned his entire civilization in a single moment, with a single terrified choice.

Eventually, he couldn’t find any more ships. Any more survivors of the blast. So he left the channel on a faint staticy news channel as he curled up on the floor, shaking. Sobbing.

He listened as the host said their goodbyes. As they described for anyone listening, the moon shards decent. 

A rattling boom came through the comms as what was left of the moon collided with the planet, and the host sobbed.

The station went dead.

And Tim knew everyone else was too.

Not just the people in the moon. (Every other soldier he'd fought with. Every other damned kid sent up there.) But everyone on Earth as well.

He'd heard the stories of mass extinctions. 

Heard how the moon had formed during a collision that cracked the earth like an egg and made the molten core.

Those who hadn't died in the collision would surely die in the resulting impact winter, and he was the last human alive.

The last person in space.

How long had it taken for everyone on the moon to die? He wondered in shaking terror. Did the void rush the tunnels in seconds or was it slow?

Oxygen depleting through the cracks with every passing second, leading to an inevitable doom staved off by airlocks and shaking hands.

His heart ached with the force of his impossible grief, somehow heavier and more final than even Bertie.

He'd damned the whole world. Damned every baby, person, and elder. Damned every cat and dog and bird and lizard. Damned every living thing on the planet.

And he'd _been happy of it._

He hadn't thought. It hadn't even occurred to him how many people a single trigger could kill.

But he had pulled it and extinguished the life of _everyone._

Human brains are not built for comprehending numbers like a billion, but as Tim sat there sobbing with the grief for an entire planet he felt the weight of over 7 billion souls on his shoulders 

He'd killed 7 billion people and smiled as he'd done it.

He's a _monster._

* * *

When he grew too exhausted from sobbing he slowly stood up, staggering back to the couch he'd found. 

Stumbling over furniture and everything he'd never see.

His eyes hurt even more from crying. He tasted iron in his tears. His shoulder ached even more than it had earlier, and as he felt it, the bullet wound, he realized one of the stitches had popped.

And he _knew_ there was no way of him fixing it.

He was alone.

He was The Last Man Standing

He'd been compared to Achilles once. The invincible hero who‘s companion died, and only fell when his ankle was hit by an arrow, severing his tendon.

Making it impossible for him to stand.

Sending him to his knees.

How fitting for him to be the only one left to stand.

How horrifically fitting.

* * *

The silence was getting to him. 

The emptiness of the lifepod.

The knowledge he was the only one left alive.

His eyes hurt.

His shoulder sent stabbing knives of pain through him with every slight movement.

Every so often he felt as if he'd hear a voice, a whisper.

Every so often he'd be absolutely certain he'd hear footsteps.

He would pace around the chamber. He would mess with the controls. 

He'd sit in the bathroom and put his hands under the running water just to feel something warm.

He'd wrap the Kaiser's blanket around himself and sob until he ran out of tears again.

He'd turn the comms knob and search for any living voice.

Any proof he wasn't alone in the universe. 

Only the void of space greeted him.

Only the void of the planet he knows he alone doomed.

Only the void of where the moon had been.

Only the void to greet him.

Everyone was dead or dying and it's _his fault._

* * *

He hears footsteps and voices and he knows they are not real.

Or at least he thinks they aren’t.

Could be the ghosts of everyone he’d killed.

But he figured they were hallucinations. 

Hoped they were, given ghosts were worse.

He wasn't quite sure if it was the fever or the solitude, causing them.

But in the end, it didn't matter, did it?

He was dying anyway.

His shoulder pulsed with the agony of a twisted bayonet blade, infected and swollen, and his vision has, if anything deteriorated further.

He thought he could make out grim shadows, but now there was nothing. No light made a difference.

He hopes he'll die soon.

He knows he deserves it.

* * *

Tim lay crumpled on the couch.

He couldn't sit up if he wanted to.

Too weak from the infection made fever, from the dehydration and despair.

Then he heard footsteps.

He couldn't help that desperate glimmer of hope that _someone was here, he wasn't alone_ that rushed through him.

There was a voice as well, he picked out, ears straining beyond the fog of the fever and the agonizing ache of his shoulder.

The voice was humming.

He didn't recognize the tune.

He strained to sit up, to tilt his ears towards the sound, but a _hand_ , gently, oh so gently pushed him down.

"Are you Tim?" The voice asked, something between giddy excitement and forlorn sorrow in her tone. Like she was simultaneously overjoyed to be here and dreading every moment of her continued existence.

Tim manages a mumbled "Yes ma'am." and a nod, but even that little of a movement made his head swim.

"You're Jonathan's friend, yes? The one who ah.. What did he say? The one who just wouldn’t die? You saw his severed head in the Throne Room?"

Once again he tried to nod. 

He wants to talk, to beg for answers on how she's here, how she's alive, who she is. How she knows the impossibility of what he witnessed in the Kaiser's throne room. 

"Do you want to live?" She asks, tone far more serious than before.

She’s looking for an answer.

And while Tim is still half-convinced she's a hallucination of some sort, he does want to live, he desperately wants to live and he nods again. “Yes.” His voice is dry, parched, and scratchy.

"Wonderful!" She says, and he can hear the grin on her lips. He wonders if he’d made the right choice.

Then arms slide under him, and his shoulder hurts so much he was out before her 5th step.

* * *

When Tim wakes up, everything feels _wrong._ Colors too bright and too many, and the world too clear. Somehow, his eyes fit in his skull wrong.

There is a smiling woman hovering over him. Something sharp and glinting metal in her hand. "Alright." She says, leaning forward, leaning over him. Her lab coat is stained with blood and gore. 

It's only then Tim realizes he is strapped down.

"I just need to run a few tests." She says, and he tries to pull back, to scream.

But there is something holding his head still, and his mouth shut. 

“And possibly make a few adjustments. Just sit tight, it won’t hurt _too much!_ ” 

As she leans over him he can see with eyes that don't feel like they are his that her teeth are far, far to sharp to be human. 

And Tim is afraid.

Alive, but afraid.

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr: Garecc  
> Mechs Tumblr: Gunpowderdtim


End file.
